


Afterthought

by aishahiwatari



Series: Senses [2]
Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: But they're all friends, Established Relationship, Human Trafficking, I Don't Even Know, Kind of after Civil War, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not totally pre-arranged, Okay I ship this now, Slightly Kinky Sex, Still not sure where this goes in the timeline, Swearing, Unnamed villain - Freeform, Vague Daredevil S2 spoilers, but it works out, convoluted plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 07:44:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9983363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aishahiwatari/pseuds/aishahiwatari
Summary: Sam and Matt have been spending more time together, and it's actually working. They're as surprised as anybody else.But when Matt gets wind of a human trafficker operating in his city, it's hard to shake off old instincts telling him to go it alone.In the end, even Tony acknowledges they could have communicated more.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, they are watching 8 Out of 10 Cats does Countdown. The Avengers can be into British comedy (and Jon Richardson, apparently) if I want.
> 
> Still Unbeta'd. Let me know if they sound inappropriately British.

“Six.”

“Five.”

“Ah, man. Five.”

“Seven.”

“Oh, come on! How are you doing that?”

Matt smiled, with a mysterious shrug that made Clint shove him in the shoulder and Sam clutch him protectively. He laughed, then, snuggling into the warm, strong body and feeling Sam glare over his head at his attacker, sat at the opposite end of Tony’s very comfortable couch in the Avengers' favored lounge.

“Dude, he’s cheating! He can’t even see the letters.” A whoosh of air told him Clint had gestured broadly at the television.

“He has excellent recall!” Sam retorted, “And Rachel has a very memorable voice.”

“Does she?” Matt asked, with wide eyes and effusive surprise.

“You have the best radar for hot chicks of any blind, gay guy I’ve met.” Tony, while slightly annoyed somebody had beaten his six letter word, was at least duly impressed by one of Matt’s skills.

“I’m bi.” Matt felt the need to inform him, as he reached out to pat Sam’s side, “accidentally” brushing over his crotch and groping his way outwards.

“Well, then it’s a shame you can’t fully appreciate Jon Richardson in a cardigan.” Tony took a sip of his whiskey with ginger ale.

“Describe him,” Matt demanded, leaning back against Sam’s chest, head tilted up at him. He was wearing his glasses still, aware his lack of focus could be disconcerting. Sam seemed to stare at him either way, though.

“Well I only have eyes for you, sweetheart.” Sam leaned down to kiss him briefly, to the movement Matt noted meant rolled eyes from Tony and a gagging sound from Clint.

“Somebody with balls describe him.” Matt grinned, to the slightly less pleasant pinch to the ribs he flinched away from with only the tiniest whimper because one of them was possibly cracked. Sam rubbed at his side apologetically without acknowledging it further, although his fingers lingered at the bruise he couldn’t possibly have seen yet. Matt suppressed a shiver as his skin tingled at the heat and contact even through his shirt.

“He’s- pretty short,” Tony began, thoughtfully.

“Not a deal breaker,” Clint interjected, helpfully.

“Yeah, right. He has dark hair, it’s short and a little curly. Like, it looks like it would feel really good if you ran your fingers through it.”

“Really good.” Clint felt the need to add.

“Uh-huh. And he’s got beautiful, dark eyes. Really dark. Like black, almost. And he’s adorable. With this little dimple in his left cheek when he smiles. Like, just one cheek. I want to lick it.”

“How does anybody mock me for my sexuality?” Matt asked himself.

“You literally have your hand in Sam’s pants,” Tony pointed out.

“Where is Steve, anyway?” Matt mused, to a hiss from Clint and a glass being thrown in his general direction from Tony. Thankfully, it came nowhere near the target. Tony stalked off for a new one that contained no alcohol at all, so Matt grabbed his wrist as he passed on his way back to one of the armchairs and dragged him down to the sofa with them.

“How- how did you do that?” Tony asked, managing not to spill even as he shifted his hips so he’d fit easily between Matt and Clint. Clint lifted his legs to rest on all of them, his feet on Sam’s lap.

“I can smell that expensive cologne of yours a mile away.” Matt smirked, and Tony pinched his leg only to have it slapped away by Sam.

“You’re a mutant. I swear to God.”

“He’s perfectly natural, I’ll have you know.” Sam wrapped his arms around Matt, pulling him close and pressing a kiss to his temple.

 

“You are gonna fucking give yourself away,” Sam muttered later, into Matt’s neck and punctuated by grazes of his teeth and licks that made Matt moan, his fingers entrenched in Sam’s short hair, fingernails scratching at his scalp and holding him as though he’d run if he let him go. It was the last thing on Sam’s mind as he explored gently underneath Matt’s untucked shirt, the warmth of myriad bruises pronounced enough for even him to feel. His expression creased in sympathy and he wondered if Matt knew.

“It’s fine.” Matt’s hips twitched against the solid warmth between his legs without any real contribution from his brain, his back pressed up against the wall in Sam’s room. They were barely steps from the lift, as far as they had managed to get. “Nobody ever suspects.”

Sam snorted at that, and then scraped his teeth along Matt’s jaw so he’d shiver and forget how unsexy it had been, “I literally noticed within two minutes of seeing you in the suit.”

“Only.” Matt, unimpressed, dragged Sam into a kiss and bit his bottom lip right back, let it slip slowly from between his teeth, “Because you’d been staring at me too hard not to.”

“I have no idea how anybody doesn’t stare at you. You’re the hottest man on the planet.”

“I’m not even wearing a cardigan,” Matt whispered back, grinning until Sam’s defensive growl was replaced with the faint rustle and thud of his dropping to his knees, “What even is a- oh, Sam.”

Sam smiled to himself, battled with Matt’s clothing to pull his suit pants down and groaned. Matt had come straight from the office, he knew, and the fact that he had been forgoing underwear all day in preparation made him shudder with anticipation. He licked a slow, hot stripe up the underside of Matt’s cock, not yet fully hard but rising to the occasion with a flattering enthusiasm. Matt trembled, so beautifully responsive and unrestrained, and Sam smoothed his hands over Matt’s wonderfully solid thighs. It was best to keep some sort of contact, he knew, because Matt could sense he was there when he didn’t but it brought him back from the edge, from the state where he gave himself over completely. Sam licked another stripe, longer and slower, savoring the high-pitched whine that resulted and the pearly drop of fluid at the head, bitter and salty on his tongue.

He spread one hand over Matt’s hip, restraining and covetous, wrapped the other around the base of his cock and guided it between his lips. Matt gave a long, throaty groan that made Sam’s own burgeoning erection twitch in reminder, clenched his fists as he struggled not to thrust his hips forwards, to push his length deeper. It felt amazing, a sensation Sam had found he enjoyed, a little guiltily, the hot, heavy weight on his tongue and the pressure as his throat was forced wide around it. Matt was biting his lip so hard it paled. Sam pulled back, reluctantly letting Matt’s cock spring upright, wet and shining, the red flesh a contrast to the pale skin of his stomach.

“Hey, babe. Don’t hurt yourself.” He pressed a kiss to Matt’s thigh, let his lips linger as Matt took deep breaths, opened his mouth wide and pressed it to the sensitive skin, sucked and laved it with his tongue. Matt shuddered, whimpered, gradually let his lip slip from the vice grip of his teeth. It wasn’t bleeding. “Can you relax?”

It was a question, not a request, and after a moment Matt made a frustrated sound and shook his head. With a grimace, because his knees did not appreciate their time spent on the wood-paneled floor, Sam staggered to his feet, taking Matt by the wrist to lead him into the bedroom. He was still pliant and trusting, willingly led as Sam eased him gently onto the bed and descended with him to nose at his neck, kissing the hollow behind his ear. He received a grateful hum in response, and a huffing gasp when he bit lightly at his earlobe.

“You still wanna do this?” Sam whispered, barely more than a breath, cautious of Matt's sensitive hearing. 

“Yes.” Matt’s response was a frustrated groan and the bump of his erection against Sam’s stomach as he thrust his hips, hands coming up to skim Sam’s sides.

“Good. Tell me to stop, anytime.” Sam told him, as he drew back, and Matt nodded, a slight crease in his brow before Sam clenched a fist in his hair and pulled just hard enough to tilt his head back and meet his slackened mouth in a deep, open-mouthed kiss. With a mewl, Matt melted against him, his tongue sliding hot and wet against Sam’s, his fingernails pressing into Sam’s waist, trying to drag him closer than physics would allow. He ground his hips upwards and there were definitely too many clothes in the way, Sam allowed, as he pressed uncomfortably against the zipper of his jeans and couldn’t even imagine how Matt must have felt. 

Bracing Matt’s jaw with one hand, his thumb pressed against that pounding pulse as he refused to relinquish control over the kiss, he navigated Matt’s heaving chest with the other hand to unbutton his shirt. A soft groan of wonder escaped him as he traced the hard lines of the stomach and chest beneath it, smoothed his palm over soft skin punctuated by scars. How anybody so gorgeous was willing to allow him such unfettered access to his body was completely beyond him, but Matt came so willingly every time, without hesitation, trusting Sam to help him shut out everything else during those precious minutes together.

Sam broke the contact between their mouths to pull his T-shirt over his head and throw it, to shimmy out of his jeans and drop them before straddling Matt’s thighs. He held his weight on one arm, elbow braced against the bed as he leaned down, careful not to put any pressure on Matt’s ribs. He couldn't remember the last time Matt didn't have bruises, flushed warm with pride and wouldn’t dream of having him any other way as he kissed his sternum, smiled against the soft, warm skin stretched tight over solid bone and muscle. He could feel his heart beating, a steady vibration. It quickened as he skimmed a hand down Matt’s side to brush the backs of his fingers against the hot silk hardness of his cock. He heard the whine rising in Matt’s chest at the tease, closed his eyes to savor it for a moment.

Matt was already tensing again, though, restless, and Sam had to demand his attention or risk losing it entirely. He kissed his way to one of Matt’s nipples and sucked it into his mouth, drawing it into a hardened peak before he bit down. Matt keened shrilly, his back arching up from the bed, into the pain, and shuddered as Sam soothed it with soft laps of his tongue, finally yanking his own boxers down and shifting to align their cocks. With a gasp, Matt pressed his hips upwards into the contact, no time to overthink his gratifyingly wanton reaction before Sam wrapped a hand around them both and began to stroke. It was too dry, too hot for him with the friction, but he loved Matt’s reactions to the not-quite pain, the short gasps and moans of his labored breathing, the clutch of his fingers through Sam’s short hair. Sam growled, low, in his throat as he only tugged harder, pressed his face into Matt’s neck, licking at the damp skin until Matt tilted his head away, vulnerable and exposed.

Sam adored him. Equal parts authority and insecurity, outwardly defensive but so trusting once Sam had insinuated himself within those walls. And gorgeous, whether he was clad in leather with clenched teeth and blood on his knuckles or falling apart beneath him, murmuring nonsensical encouragement and thrusting into the tight circle of Sam’s fist. He was close, his movements stuttering, but he raised a hand to his mouth to muffle his sounds and Sam wasn’t having that. Not tonight.

With his free hand, he pulled on Matt’s wrist until he raised it above his head and then pinned it there, taking his weight, “No,” he growled and Matt shuddered all over, unfocused hazel eyes lidded. There were teeth marks near his thumb, “I want to hear you. You’ll say my name when you come or it won’t happen at all.”

“Sam, please-” Matt’s voice cracked, his back bowed, every muscle in his body straining with tension and what a sight it was.

“Please, what? Tell me what you want, Matt.” Sam whispered, the movement of his hand slowing because he had a suspicion what it was and why Matt wouldn’t say it and he hated that he had been so thoroughly convinced that there was anything wrong with that.

Matt panted wordlessly, his body falling lax against the sheets, his fist clenching and relaxing in Sam’s hold, “You know,” he whined, and the shame in his voice made Sam’s heart melt.

“I want to hear it. In that gorgeous voice of yours, that drives me crazy.” Sam leaked pre-come copiously when he was hard, would feel self-conscious if he didn’t know Matt loved it for the effect it had on his senses, and he collected it in his palm to spread over both of them, to make the slide easier as he began to pull at them both again. Matt shuddered. He could feel it, the slick and the cool air against his skin contrasting with the burning heat of satin-wrapped steel pressed against him, and he could smell it, the combined scents of arousal clouding his head. He wanted, and he gasped with the effort of forming the words, Sam’s stubble scraping as he kissed at his neck, too brief to be painful.

“Words, baby, use them,” Sam insisted, squeezing a little harder for emphasis and smiling against Matt’s skin when he gasped his objection, “I’ll do whatever you want, just tell me.”

Matt’s voice cracked as he whimpered and breathed, just barely, “I want you to hurt me.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Sam sank his teeth into the junction of Matt’s neck and shoulder, sure it would be hidden by his collar, and pressed his thumbnail into the slit of Matt’s cock. Matt screamed as he came, hard, Sam’s touch already gentling to soothe, peppering kisses on the mark he had left, murmuring encouragement in Matt’s ear as hot, thick fluid pulsed over his fingers and he didn’t think he’d ever experienced anything sexier. His hand coated with the evidence of Matt’s completion, the sound of his wonderful, broken voice ringing in his ears, it only took a few more tugs before he groaned, low, Matt pulling him into a kiss and swallowing the noises as his entire body tensed and spasmed with the force of his release.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Sam muttered, against Matt’s lips, to the sensation of a shuddering aftershock through his lover’s body, “So beautiful. You’re so good for me, baby. Is your neck okay?”

“Perfect.” Matt kissed him, entangling their tongues and drawing Sam down onto him. Sam shifted to the side to avoid pressing him into the mattress, not wanting to aggravate any of the damage he hadn’t done himself either. He laid a hand flat on Matt’s chest, reassured only when his heartbeat began to slow, their mouths sliding together in a soft caress.

“I never want to hurt you,” Sam whispered, words so true he didn’t even know if he could say them with enough significance for Matt to truly believe him. They hadn’t known each other that long, had spent less time together than either of them would have liked but he couldn’t imagine doing any of it with anybody else. He had no idea what he had done before, without him. 

Matt was tracing gentle shapes on Sam’s back with his fingers. “I didn’t say your name.”

Sam laughed, low, nosed Matt’s head to the side again to kiss the mark on his shoulder, “I think you earned a rain check. I just wanted you to let go.”

A little petulantly, Matt’s grasp on Sam tightened, short fingernails pressing into his skin and making him shiver despite the warmth of the body pressed against him.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Matt touched the corresponding spot on Sam’s neck, squeezed as he felt Sam sigh. “And it’s nice. To have a mark on me that I chose. Will you- do it again?”

Matt’s sentence punctuated with an audible swallow, Sam felt his heartbeat quicken and couldn’t help but smile fondly, “Anytime you want. Just- not every time? Some days I just want to- take care of you. I can’t stand the idea of anybody hurting you. Not even me. And not even when you want it.”

“Deal.” Matt shifted his hips, snuggling closer, warm and pliant against Sam until his damn ribs twinged and he groaned.

“You promise you’ll call if you ever need backup?” Sam moved to sit up, stretching and smiling at Matt’s appreciative touch to his pectorals, straying downwards. It was all the protectiveness he would allow himself, one reminder a day that Daredevil didn’t have to act alone. Any more and he thought he’d drive them both crazy.

“I still promise.” And Matt indulged him, as he eased himself into a sitting position, nose wrinkling either at the pain or the myriad cooling and drying fluids spattered across his chest. Sam padded into the bathroom, wetted an extra-soft towel he had agonized over asking JARVIS to procure for him and returned to wipe him down. “And you still take care of me.”

“Thank you for letting me.” Sam was entirely sincere as he drew Matt into a kiss, marveling as always at how well they fit together, complimented each other. They were both leading such busy, dangerous lives, but with neither of them inclined to fuss or panic, it just meant they pushed to make the most of the time that they did have. They veered between days or weeks of time apart and deep, vulnerable intimacy with fluidity, if not quite ease, and every time it was like coming home.

“You going out tonight?” Sam asked, as he traced Matt’s cheekbone with a finger, looked deep into expressive, unseeing eyes as though it might be the last time he would ever see them.

Matt sighed, “I hope not. Yesterday was tough. If they’ve already regrouped it doesn’t bode well. I’d like to have a few drinks with Karen and Foggy, too. I miss them. I- can see why you do it, sometimes. The Avengers thing. Companionship. No judgment.”

“You’d be welcome.” Sam said, even though he knew it wasn’t what Matt meant, kissed his forehead as he nodded anyway. None of the others knew yet, that Matt was Daredevil, but Sam didn’t think they'd mind. Only Tony had seen him defend himself, during their semi-disastrous first date, but even he seemed only vaguely confused and frankly more interested in Matt’s uncanny ability to locate attractive women.

“I’ll stick with having the more personal touch for now, I think. Thank you, Sam.”

“No problem. You wanna shower?”

Matt smirked, pressed his lips to Sam’s cheek, “With you?”

“I should beat you up more often.”

He was joking, of course, but Matt’s expression darkened and his teeth skimmed Sam’s skin as he was guided carefully to his feet and towards the bathroom.

 

“You look happy,” Natasha observed, as she disassembled a handgun, sat cross-legged on the floor of the Quinjet. Her hair was short, an auburn color pixie cut that made her look younger than usual.

“I- think I am,” Sam mused. He couldn’t blame her for commenting. He was pretty surprised himself, whenever he took the time to actually think about it.

“It’s good. It suits you.”

The clatter of machinery and ammunition in Natasha’s nimble hands was rhythmic, controlled. Soothing, almost, against the backdrop of the engine purring. Sam tried to relax, listening to it, his only chance for something resembling rest. He was in one of the seats, back against the wall, had taken off the flight suit and set it next to him. He hadn't mentioned, but imagined Natasha knew somehow that it had pressed uncomfortably against the scratches left on his back.

She gave a soft snort of amusement as he smiled at the memory of having them put there, and he opened his eyes to glare at her.

“Get some rest. We’ll be in Toronto before it gets dark,” she told him, and with the well-practiced ability of a soldier to sleep anywhere, Sam did. He stirred slightly when Natasha swapped the pilot’s seat with Clint, a sudden masculine scent of cologne and gunpowder Sam could identify without opening his eyes. Being with Matt had taught him to notice more, not just to see but to sense and to read what else was there instead of always relying on his eyes. Clint’s footsteps barely registered as he crossed the metal floor to sit opposite him. He could have been staring at Sam, looking into space, closing his eyes. Sam wondered if Matt would have known which it was, vaguely, before he drifted off again.

 

Tony was fuming, pacing, breathing shallow and his jaw set by the time they met him at their hotel. They’d left the jet and crossed the city as civilians, as best they could, and it was dark enough that they passed unnoticed through the streets, even with duffel bags.

“It’s people.” Tony hissed through his teeth, the moment they walked through the door to his and Steve's one of the adjoining rooms, “Hydra are importing people. From across Europe, they put them in vehicles, and they take them across land borders. They brought them across the Bering Strait and they got across the border from Alaska into Canada, and they do the same thing at the other end. We’re months behind them. And they take small loads, a couple at a time, so we can’t even intercept any meaningful numbers before they just find another route and start again.”

Clint sighed, “Good to see you too, Tony.”

“Where’s Steve?” Natasha asked, sharp eyes taking in the state of the room; the open and empty minibar; Steve’s bag on the bed.

“He went to meet a contact.”

“Alone?” Sam set his bag inside the door, ready to leave, because he knew the answer and couldn’t imagine it was helping with Tony’s anxiety levels.

“Yeah. I’m too distinctive- I couldn’t. It’s on Yonge Street, near Elm.”

Sam was already out the door, the unmistakable sounds of Clint slipping out behind him.

“You know Elm?” Sam asked him as they took the stairs down, Sam two at a time and Clint with quick, quiet steps.

“We passed it on the way here.”

“How far?”

“Cab ride.”

Sam nodded, waited until they were out on the street and his arm was raised before turning and grinning. “Got any ones?”

Clint had a lot of ones. More than was entirely sensible for any man not guaranteed to end their night in a strip club, something Sam tried not to think too hard about, although he was grateful for the change. They headed for the bar first and gave themselves a chance to reduce the bulk of cash in their wallets by rather more than either of them were used to.

“Canada is expensive.” Clint mused, eyeing Sam mischievously over the rim of his Cosmo glass.

“And deserted,” Sam was scanning the room, over the rather lackluster performance occurring on stage and the two men seated close by. One of them had a hood pulled up to entirely obscure his face, but he wasn’t anything like broad enough in the shoulders to potentially be Steve, or to come close to beating him in a fight. The other wore an expensive suit, leered obnoxiously over the drink he held in a well-manicured hand.

“It is a Tuesday night. And it’s like, minus four.”

Sam wasn’t convinced.

“Maybe he got ravaged. Or bored. Oh! Maybe he’s having a lap dance! We should check the back rooms… excuse me, Miss.”

Sam rolled his eyes, took a sip of his beer and nearly spat it out again at Clint’s follow-up:

“My friend here would like a lap dance.” 

Unwilling to completely blow their cover, he sheepishly accepted as the admittedly beautiful blonde woman led him into a back room. And to reluctantly give Clint the credit he deserved, Sam did hear Steve’s voice, a little harried but not defensive or aggressive, in the next room. He would have to wait. Sam sat in a plush, purple velvet chair, and looked properly at the woman for the first time.

“Holy shit.”

“Hi, Sam,” she replied, with a deceptively innocent smile as she deposited herself on his lap, hands draped casually over his shoulder, “Long time no see.”

“Uhh, not that long,” Sam pointed out, because it had only been a couple of months since he had sat across a dinner table from the very same woman in an overpriced restaurant. She had been fawning over Tony Stark and making meaningless comments on their conversations until she had disabled a number of well-trained men while wearing heels and a sparkly dress. At least she had abandoned the horrendous high-pitched accent, opting instead for a level, not-quite-British murmur, and she showed no interest whatsoever in actually giving him the lap dance he suspected he would still be paying for. “Is this a SHIELD gig?”

She gave him broad, white-toothed smile, “No. I’m freelancing, right now.”

For the first time, Sam felt uneasy. He had no weapons and he was rather effectively pinned by a woman he was aware was a more than competent fighter. Her expectant raised eyebrows reassured him somewhat.

“Who are you?” He had to ask, suddenly realizing that he had no idea where to put his hands. He settled for resting them on the arms of the chair, which made the woman smile, just the tiniest quirk of lips that showed more in her eyes.

“My name is Yelena. I- suppose I am a mercenary, currently. I need to warn you. There is a dangerous man at the head of all this. He hired me to assist him as his cargo crossed the Russian tundra.”

“Hydra?” Sam interrupted, even though he hadn’t meant to.

Yelena shook her head, “No. He works alone. Hires men who know nothing of him so he can play games with their lives.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know his name. Nobody does. But there is a man by the stage who is going to meet with him. You need to follow him. Alone, because he will notice any more.”

“This is the shadiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m trying to help you! Please, Sam.”

“I know, but- Where’s he going, for this meeting?”

Yelena bit her lip, sighed.

“Nobody knows, right?”

“I’m taking a risk, telling you this! If he finds out, he’ll have me killed.”

Sam sighed, “Well, I don't want that,” he admitted. Part of him was still petulantly stuck on the argument that he had just got there! He didn't want to go spend hours of nothing chasing some guy in a suit. He wanted to throw some punches, kick some bad guys in the face. And he didn't know which one he should do, whether to believe this woman who had helped him before, but seemed to possess a brusque fluidity when to came to her alliances. She might even have been on the run from SHIELD. 

But Steve was there, with Natasha and Clint to back him up, Tony to burst in dramatically and provide explosions should they find themselves in any trouble. They would be alright on their own, surely. And he could get in touch with them whenever he needed. There was something about Yelena, too, that made him want to trust her. She was young, underneath all the stripper-style makeup, with large blue eyes and pink lips that softened into a pout when she didn't get her way.

“Alright, I’ll do it. Tell me everything you know.”

 

Half an hour later, he emerged into the main room with shaking legs and a pounding heart. Aware of how noise traveled, Yelena had spent the entire time with her thighs squeezing his, pressed against his chest, whispering in his ear, shifting against him at intervals to keep her legs from cramping up. He didn’t think he’d ever get the smell of her perfume out of his nose, a soft, flowery scent that had been pleasant at first but left him light-headed as the minutes flowed by.

The subject matter hadn’t exactly been pleasant, either. She had told stories about the shipments she had seen, children of all ages crammed into the backs of trucks or sat, terrified in the back seats of cars with people of other countries so they couldn’t communicate. Armed mercenaries transported them, cared little if their cargo all-but-froze to death in the cars overnight as long as they reached their destination alive and in one piece. In “serviceable condition”, Yelena had snarled, with a curl to her lip and a shiver Sam felt more than saw. It was the only time he had wanted to touch her, but he felt he could provide no comfort. She had seen men beaten, women raped, children abused during the days they spent crossing Russia, and it had only made up half of their trip.

Sam realized that was the source of the somewhat clipped consonants in her speech, wondered if her upbringing had been anything like Natasha’s, if she had been taught to withstand all kinds of suffering but come out the other side fighting when she had been pushed too far.

“Wow, somebody got their money's worth,” Clint smirked at him over yet another Cosmo, Steve leaning against the bar at his side with a beer in hand he had barely touched. Behind him, three girls in their underwear ogled shamelessly, and Steve rolled his eyes as Sam quirked an eyebrow in their direction.

“Yeah, it was certainly an eye-opener.” Sam accepted the beer the bartender slid in his direction with a nod, noting the calluses on his trigger fingers and Clint’s suddenly heavy silence, “Did you get what you came for?” He asked Steve with his best innocent expression.

“I don’t know, I think something was missing.” Steve took an almost-sip of his beer.

“Hygiene?” Clint suggested.

“Romance,” Sam guessed.

“Intelligent conversation.”

“Hand sanitizer.”

“Flavored lube.” Was Clint’s final guess before they both snorted into their drinks and giggled helplessly at Steve’s unimpressed expression.

At the table by the stage, the man in the suit got up.

“I have to go.” Sam announced, to Clint’s raised eyebrow and Steve’s frown.

“Where?”

“I… don't know. I’ll call you. Need you to trust me.” Sam downed his beer, shoved a twenty into Clint’s hand and followed the man out into the night.

“Think he made a friend?” Clint raised his eyebrows in Steve’s direction.

“I just hope he’s not overestimating his chances.”

Clint shrugged, “He’s a- good-looking guy. I’m sure he knows what he’s capable of.”

Steve's head was starting to hurt, partly the effort of thinking about their code and partly the combination of pounding bass and multiple scented perfumes and products. He could feel women staring as surely as if their gaze had been burning holes in the back of his head. But he trusted Sam. And their source had promised the time and location of a meet between some of the mercenaries and their local commander. It was as good a place to start as any, while Sam followed up on whatever information he had found.

 

In the same back room Sam had been accosted in, Yelena climbed onto the lap of another man, pulled at the back of his hood so she could see his face.

“You know I don’t care who you are,” she reminded him, softly, “Did you speak with Rogers?”

The man rolled his eyes, leaned back in the chair, cushioned the back of his neck with both hands, faux-casual judging by the set of his jaw, “Yeah. I still don’t like this.”

“Nobody likes this. You told him about the meet.”

“No, we chatted about the weather.”

“And what was the forecast?”

“They’ll be there. I really don’t wanna do this to-”

“Shh. It will work out. The Falcon is on his way.”

“I do need to meet the good Mr. Wilson.”

“He seems nice. Didn't touch me once, even though I tried really hard,” Yelena punctuated her sentence with a grinding motion, as though the meaning wouldn’t have been clear otherwise, dragged a gasp from the man beneath her.

“Well, we’ve still got twenty five minutes to kill,” he reminded her, somewhat breathlessly.

“And what would you like to do with that time?”

“Well, that depends… Did you catch CSI last night?”

“Yes! I really thought it was going to be the brother.”

“You’re a spy, how did you not know it was the neighbor?”

“I didn’t watch much television growing up, the subtleties elude me.”

“Did you watch that cartoon? With the rabbit dancing in the prison?”

She laughed, “Cartoon? I learned how to shoot a man before he had even seen me. To seduce him and let him think he was in control. To kill women and children with my bare hands to save on ammunition.”

“Yeah, but, after that?”

“You are a funny man.”

“Must be why I get all the chicks.”

“Leave some for me. And put your hands on my breasts, someone’s coming.”

 

Tony leapt at his phone the moment it vibrated on the bed, gritted his teeth and bit back a curse when he saw the text was from Sam. Still, he opened the message and fumbled for his tablet when he saw what it said.

With a few taps of the screen that booted a couple of HAMMER stockholders from their First Class seats, he got Sam on the flight he wanted, although he didn't fully understand why.

“Going home already?” He texted, without fully expecting an answer.

“Long story. Any intel on this guy?” Sam sent a somewhat blurry image of a guy in a suit. Tony wrinkled his nose, because it would take his software a while to triangulate a full facial image without an another angle, but his phone pinged again. Sam had sent another image, in profile, of the guy buying coffee. Tony really needed to make some coffee.

He ran the guy through all the databases he had access to, tipped two sachets into the coffee maker and set it to run while he waited for the results to come in. A driver’s license came back, rather unsatisfyingly clean, but it meant Tony could get into the seating plan for Sam’s flight and make sure he could keep eyes on the guy. 

“Address in Manhattan checks out. Registered to vote. No family.”

“Rumors? Anything?”

Tony shook his head to himself, switching between screens with one hand while the other retrieved his projector, set a display of what little he did have floating in the air beside him. He considered the one record that did come up with the guy’s name, when he had been the victim of assault. No suspect had been located by officers at the time, although one had been deposited on the steps of the Police Station presumably by “The man in the mask”, whatever the hell that meant. He had signed a full confession to that assault and three others.

Switching to SHIELD files, Tony pulled up their records. They were minimal, what Tony considered embarrassingly so, but they were enough to confirm that this man in the mask was the vigilante known as Daredevil. He almost dismissed it, too annoyed that Fury was keeping the records he undoubtedly had somewhere that he couldn’t see them. Probably in paper files. Tony shuddered, grabbed a mug of coffee as he texted Sam:

“Saved by Daredevil once. Victim of assault. I’ll text if I find any more.”

He got no reply, but the flight left less than ten minutes after he had hit send, so he didn’t really expect one. He kept digging. Got through half the pot before Steve came through the door and wordlessly collapsed on the other bed, burying his head under the pillow. Clint shrugged and took a mug of coffee himself, raised it in thanks before retreating to the adjoining room. Natasha had been in there earlier, but Tony had felt the cold air coming through under the door and thought she had slipped out the window. They were on the 32nd floor. He sighed and shook his head, dimmed the lights and kept working with only the occasional glance at Steve. Just to make sure he was still breathing. Fury would kill him if a super-soldier was suffocated by a pillow on his watch.

 

As soon as he switched his phone onto airplane mode, Sam realized that he should have asked Tony to take a look at Yelena’s file, too. He saved a message doing just that, but he didn’t have a credit card that matched his fake passport so couldn’t risk paying for the wi-fi. It would have to wait until he landed. He paid for a bottle of water and a truly awful grilled cheese sandwich with cash, the stewardess arching an eyebrow, unimpressed, when he paid with a stack of ones. Giving her a sheepish smile, Sam considered telling her that he had unwillingly been at a bachelor party, but she had already moved on to the next row of seats. He wondered if that was what Clint felt like all the time, vaguely ashamed and a little dirty.

After all that, though, he lost the guy at JFK as they went through security. Seriously, he just disappeared. Sam looked away for about a second to check his phone when it vibrated with a message from Tony, and then he was gone. He only just resisted the stream of curse words that threatened to come out. There were kids present.

By the time he’d jumped in a cab, Tony’s reply about Yelena had come through. As far as SHIELD were concerned, she was a person of interest with no set designation as an ally or enemy. There was barely any information about her history. Tony gave her an eight out of ten for effort, although he suspected she was a lesbian.

He did also send through a list of known associates. There wasn’t a matching one on file for Daredevil, but of course Sam didn't need that.

But Matt wasn't home. And he wasn’t at the office. Karen was. She screamed really loud when she saw Sam at the window, made him a truly terrible cup of coffee to apologize and told him Matt had seemed fine when he left work that evening, although he’d been a little jumpy. Guiltily, she added that she had figured it was because Sam was out of town. That was what usually happened.

“So, he's probably out tonight?” Sam asked her, and with a set jaw and a disapproving expression, she nodded, “I’ll find him,” he assured her, and he looked a little less like she was about to cry. Considering his day, Sam was going to chalk that one up as a victory.

He’d meant to make one last stop before heading out again, but after being invited in for a drink he wound up watching three Tivo’d episodes of America’s Next Top Model and falling asleep on Foggy’s couch.

In the morning, Matt wasn’t answering his phone to either of them. He wasn’t at home, and he hadn’t made it to the office. 

“I’ll find him.” Sam promised, meant it with everything he had. Foggy, who had laughed and shared a beer with him just the previous night, regarded him with emotionless eyes and nodded, biting his lip. Sam knew his imagination would be running wild, that he had probably seen Matt close to bleeding out more times than Sam had seen him smile. He stepped out into the cold morning air with a sense of dread that chilled him to the bone and resolve that kept him scouring the streets until mid-afternoon. He was dropping some nameless punk who knew nothing down a garbage chute when he became aware of someone following him.

“You don’t have your phone on you,” Sam announced as he turned, catching sight of a blur at the edge of his perception. A red blur.

“I don’t have pockets.” Spider-Man pointed out, behind him now. Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was still just a kid, he knew, and he would grow out of the jokes and the teasing when he needed to. Also, he might be a kid, but he had something Sam really, really needed.

“You work with Daredevil sometimes.” He cut straight to it because for all he knew, Matt could be in serious trouble somewhere.

After a moment, Spider-Man nodded, “I see him. Occasionally.”

“Have you seen him in the last couple of days?”

Spider-Man’s head tilted, as though he was considering Sam’s angle and whether or not to answer him, before he seemed to decide and shook his head, “What did you want with him?”

“I think he’s in danger.”

“And you want to protect him?”

Exactly, Sam thought, “I want to help him. I know things he doesn't. Someone’s setting a trap for him and I’m going to warn him.”

“I haven’t seen him,” Spider-Man admitted, after a pause, “Not for a couple of nights. And I don’t know how to find him, but- well, I know someone who might.”

“Who?”

Sam got the impression Spider-Man was smirking under the mask, “You don’t want to know, dude.”

They searched, Spider-Man leading the way, for a couple of hours. They visited a couple of apartments Sam would honestly have described as derelict, met the eyes of some seriously shifty characters in various Mexican restaurants. It was just beginning to get dark when Spider-Man stopped, and sighed.

“I have an idea,” he said, his voice and body language screaming reluctance, “Rip my suit right down the chest.”

“Uhh- what?” Sam stared at him, because he barely knew this kid, but he was scrawny and skinny and immature and he had to wonder about what they were trying to do. Not to mention who it was for.

“Just trust me.”

And what choice did they have? Sam did as he was told, with difficulty because Spider-Man had clearly let Tony have more than a look at his suit and it was not just spandex. Sam’s wings cut through it alright, though, until he could see a slim, pale chest devoid of all but a smattering of light hair and the edge of a pair of briefs he was really glad were under the suit. He was just despairing at what his life had come to, when a voice rung out from behind him. He hadn’t heard anybody approach.

“I hope this isn’t for my benefit, because even I know that in this timeline, you’re basically jailbait. And I really don’t want to get caught out in front of Captain America.”

Spider-Man snorted, pulling both sides of the suit so they covered him as best they could. Sam turned to face the voice, met the not-quite-eyes of the red-clad psychopath he recognized only from SHIELD files as Deadpool. They had never spoken before, and Sam suppressed a shudder as he contemplated why. The man was a murderer, a mercenary charged with the most dangerous and least savory jobs anybody could offer. He was all but indestructible, and he was completely insane, demonstrated not in the least by his initial introduction.

“Steve isn’t here.” Sam pointed out.

“Oh, is that when we are? My bad.” Deadpool grinned, and Sam had no idea how he could tell. The mask was surprisingly expressive.

Spider-Man slipped between Sam and Deadpool, successfully diverting his attention, “Have you seen Daredevil? We think he might have gotten into something that’s too big for him.”

That triggered a full, gravely laugh, “Or has something too big gotten into him?” And he raised a hand for Sam to high-five him. Sam just stared at him in disbelief, unsure if he was more outraged by what this complete stranger knew about him or by the racial undertones to the resultant joke. He could probably be both.

“I’m not high-fiving that,” he said, when his lack of reaction failed to get his point across. Deadpool only shrugged, ambivalent, lowered his arm. Waited. Sam wanted to grab hold of him and shake him, scream at him because didn’t he know how important this was? Didn’t he know that Matt being out of contact for more than a day could be the worst possible news? He seemed to fucking know everything else, including Daredevil’s secret identity and his relationship status, wasn’t he worried about him? Didn't he care that Sam was freaking out over here?

“Wade.” Spider-Man spoke gently, approached Deadpool who watched him with an inquisitive head tilt, “We’re worried. He might be hurt. Or worse. Have you heard anything? Do you know anything?”

There was a pause where Sam had no idea what was going on behind that mask. If Matt had been there, he might have heard Wade swallow, his mouth dry, or the change in the tone of his voice, low and guilty. He would have heard his heartbeat pick up as he lied. “No. I haven’t heard anything.”

Spider-Man sighed, but he accepted the answer, “You’ll call me if you do?”

“Dude, I’m gonna call him. It’s Spider-Man,” Deadpool said to apparently nobody, after a pause, and Sam did his best not to let his doubt show in his expression, “Sure. I’ll call you. I’ll keep an ear out.”

Spider-Man hesitated too, then, and Sam wondered just what the hell he had walked in on, because there was a whole dynamic he seemed to be getting in the way of. He was on the verge of turning around and running away when there was an electronic chirp in his ear.

“Redwing!” he acknowledged, too focused on the possible results of the search to notice Deadpool’s dramatic inhalation and Spider-Man putting his head in his hands.

“Redwing?”

“Wade, it’s really not-”

“You didn’t tell me about Redwing!”

“Well, he’s not actually red. He’s like, a robot. A robot bird.”

“A robot bird!”

“You can’t just have the bird!”

“Well, this guy’s cool too, right? You’re helping him, so you must like him.”

“I... don’t even know what to say to you right now.”

“I mean, so he’s Team Cap. Everybody was Team Cap, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. He’s just a more likeable character.”

“Tony is a good guy!”

“Well, I’m not! But I’m still likable!”

“You sure about that?”

“You like me.”

“I- Well…”

“Holy shit you really like me.”

“Of course I like you! But... I don’t wanna be like you.”

A pause.

“That’s understandable, I guess.”

“Please don’t just leave.”

“No deal, Petey. I’ll call you.”

“Wade…”

Sam had turned away to check the readings Redwing had passed on, established there had been no additional presence in known hideouts for the Chinese, Japanese or Russian organisations that Daredevil had any known conflicts with. When he turned back, Spider-Man was stood, alone, in the alleyway, staring up at nothing.

“You okay?” Sam asked, even as he thought, subconsciously, about all the ways in which he could find Matt, could make sure he was safe and bring him home.

“Not really.” Spider-Man sighed, “He will never understand that it’s not okay to just drop my name into conversations.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to convince him to go against his nature.”

Spider-Man just looked at him, for a moment, “He tries. He really does, for me. I’m not sure why, but I can’t give up on him.”

“Somebody saying you should?”

“Most people.”

“It’s not their life.” Sam reminded him, and he thought they shared a small, knowing smile.

“He’s a good guy underneath. He’s just… scattered.” Spider-Man crossed an arm against his chest, rubbed at his shoulder, self-conscious.

“Through different timelines?” Sam asked, because he hadn’t understood a word of what Deadpool had said but Spider-Man had seemed to take it in his stride.

“And alternate universes,” Spider-Man replied, almost a smile in his voice as he shot a web up to the roof of the building next to them, ascended to the roof with Sam maneuvering his own way after him. The air felt clearer up there, without the cloying smell of garbage and urine. Without the reminder that their last hope to find Matt had been insane, and his search was currently at a dead end. Sam clenched his jaw.

“I think it’s kind of reassuring.” Spider-Man said, and Sam turned to stare at him, “To know that there’s a constant. If you find yourself in an alternate world or another time, there’s a chance you might get rescued by Deadpool. Or Doctor Strange.”

Sam smiled, despite himself, “Or Reed Richards.”

“Although he was probably the one who put you there in the first place.” Spider-Man shrugged, “Sorry Wade couldn’t help.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Sam lied, “I’m gonna- keep looking. Thank you, and… I’m sorry about your suit.”

Spider-Man’s posture took a turn for the bashful, as he raised a hand to cover his chest, “I've got others. I’ll call if I hear anything.”

He seemed sad, before he swung away, and Sam watched him go, wondering idly if Spider-Man found it as painful watching Deadpool walk away as Sam did knowing that he could have told Matt that he loved him, if he hadn’t been so concerned with the arbitrary time periods involved in it being too soon for such declarations. That felt so insignificant now, in the face of potentially being too late.

He slept on the sofa in Steve’s empty Brooklyn apartment, unable to face going to back to the tower and the companions there who would ask him what was wrong, when he couldn’t say a word.

 

“This is ridiculous,” Tony muttered, from the safety of their unmarked observation van. He was wearing the suit, aside from the helmet and one gauntlet, so he could use his free hand to play with the projector screens. So far, they might as well have left them on freeze frame, because nothing was happening.

“You are the most- okay the third most conspicuous person I have ever met. And even Thor can be quiet sometimes. You cannot go out there. Clint and Natasha will be fine.” Steve sat next to him, leaning back in his seat and internally cursing his broad shoulders and Tony’s insistence that they be ready to pounce at any given moment. He trusted Clint and Natasha to do as they were told and remain hidden in the rafters of the incredibly cliché abandoned warehouse they had found on the outskirts of the city. He was not sure he trusted himself to remain crammed in the small van with a besuited Tony and his frustrated ego for the duration of the meeting.

Tony growled to himself and subsided, at least, but Steve knew they would have the conversation again. Very shortly, if previous experiences were anything to go by. And he couldn’t break out his authoritative voice without Tony staring at him with wide eyes for the moment it took his jaw to set and his anger to flare, and the two of them shoving at each other would hardly be conducive to remaining incognito. Although he could probably win a fight with Tony, even in the suit. If he had to. Obviously he didn’t want to. He really didn’t want to.

“You checking me out, soldier?”

Steve had no idea how to answer that, because while the answer was technically yes, he didn’t think it was in the way Tony had meant it. Oh, and there was the set jaw of anger, eyes narrowed, hands on hips. Tony had either genuinely or intentionally not noticed when he knocked a laptop off the desk with his elbow. Steve tilted his chair onto its back legs, just regarding Tony with a neutral expression. He was tired and restless and kind of just wanted to see where it would go.

After a moment, Tony visibly wilted and sighed, “You know perfectly well I’m not going to fight you, Steve.”

“So talk to me.”

Steve didn’t think he’d ever seen an expression of such abject terror on Tony’s face. Without making any sudden moves, because although he didn’t think Tony would really hurt him it was likely to be a defensive reflex to raise his active repulsor, he stood, stepped forward and hugged him. The suit was cool, solid against his skin, a little bigger than he’d thought it would be.

“What is happening?” Tony’s breaths were coming short and quick, and he was frozen. Steve felt a sudden rush of affection towards him and his poor broken mind, the amazing man beneath the hard metal exterior. He tried so hard, helped so much and accepted so little gratitude.

“I don’t want to fight with you, Tony. Can we just- not, please? Not today.”

With a sigh and the whine of hydraulics, Steve received just the lightest pat on his back, felt Tony nod against him, wanted to hold him tighter but thought that would probably trigger a panic cycle. He was so pleased that Tony had relented and considered it a victory far beyond any he had expected. Instead he pulled back, kept his hands on Tony’s shoulders and just looked at him. Tony glared back. He had huge eyes, up close, soulful and dark although they narrowed as the moments passed and no words passed between them. 

Steve felt like a machine, being disassembled and examined in all his component parts. Tony’s gaze was piercing, all-seeing and his own breath caught in his chest at the scrutiny. He wondered if that was how Tony felt, all the time. Like he was exposed, examined by a world full of people who really had no reason to like him, were unlikely to find what they wanted within him. As much as he wished that weren’t the case. As often as either of them caught the other looking and they exchanged small smiles or quirked brows. As well as they worked together. How far they had come.

Tony cleared his throat and turned away, and with a feeling like the loss of warmth Steve sat back in his seat, scanning over the screens for movement. Still nothing. But the silence felt less oppressive, and Tony was leaning against the desk, instead of constantly moving.

“What if they don’t show?” Tony asked, after a while.

Steve sighed, “We’ll have to find the roads they use to cross Canada and intercept some of their- shipments before they make it to New York.”

A muscle in Tony’s jaw twitched. He liked the idea about as little as Steve did. And he didn’t even have the memories of the war, of millions of Europeans transported into death and slavery, the knowledge that even after so many years, essentially nothing had changed.

“It does sound very Hydra, doesn’t it,” he mused, almost to himself. Steve looked down and away.

 

Clint and Natasha sat in the rafters of the building, back to back, scanning the space beneath them in silence. They had climbed up there like children on the world’s most convoluted climbing frame only with slightly less giggling, and settled on about the only beam that would hold both their weights without collapsing and bringing them down on top of whoever would be meeting there.

With no sign of movement visible below, Natasha tapped Clint six times on the side, heard the rustle of paper and his head nudge hers. She tapped him three more times, triggered another rustle and a snort. When she reached over her shoulder, he passed her the origami fortune teller and she squinted at his scrawled handwriting before smiling to herself and elbowing him in the ribs. She could feel the shake of his body that meant he was laughing. Or crying, but she didn’t think she had hit him that hard.

She expected him to nudge her next, but he tensed and squeezed her right hip instead. Slowly she looked over her shoulder to see the first of their guests arriving. Three men, one in a suit, one in some sort of lurid matching tracksuit, the last- no, not a man, although she had attempted to conceal her gender. She looked bulky, with padding or armor wholly veiling her figure, and she was dressed in men’s jeans and combat boots with a voluminous hood concealing her face. From above, it wasn’t as obvious that she was shorter than the others.

Then she spoke, and Natasha so nearly fell off her perch that Clint actually grabbed the back of her suit. She shook her head, reached back to rub at his thigh even as her breath came quick and shallow, her teeth gritted, her fists clenching.

“The cargo is ready for the final stage. We have approximately a ninety two percent yield.” Yelena announced.

“What's happening to the other eight?” The man in the suit wanted to know.

“None have escaped. It’s possible that one or more of the crew are- partaking of their services and destroying the evidence. That was expected, and factored into the sale prices. One of them was actually discovered during the act and duly- disciplined by one of his fellows.”

“Any news from our famous buyer?” 

The man in the tracksuit had an accent he was hiding beneath his slightly exaggerated American drawl, Natasha noticed, and she could smell his cheap cologne even with the distance between them.

Her heartbeat was finally descending to reasonable levels. It shouldn't have been a surprise, she knew. There were only so many mercenaries in the world who spoke Russian. Coming across Yelena had always been inevitable. Part of her had hoped that maybe she had escaped the life. Too emotional, she chided herself, and unrealistic. They were both damaged, and just because Natasha had been given the wholly undeserved chance to use her abilities for good, didn’t mean the same opportunity would be offered to anybody else, or that she would accept it when it was.

“He’s going to call us right about now.” The man in the suit pulled out a burner phone, and Natasha felt a guilty sort of smug satisfaction that they stood there for a further three minutes in silence before it actually rung.

“You’re late.”

“Sue me.” The man on the other end of the line sounded breathless and a little garbled, like there was some liquid trapped in the microphone, “When will my package arrive?”

“Three minutes late.” The man in the tracksuit muttered, just barely.

“She’ll still be alive? I hear you’ve lost a few.”

“We take care of the young ones. Don’t you fret.”

“I need her untouched. She’s worthless otherwise.”

“Untouched, and with discretion. We value your contribution to our cause.”

“Well, what are a few accidental deaths among competitors?”

“We will deliver to the docks in two days. You’ll have first pick.”

“I’ll make good use of those three minutes.” And the man on the other end of the line hung up and put his head in his hands, sighing deeply. “I feel sick.”

“‘Cause of the call, or ‘cause of the, uhh- dismemberment?” 

“Both.”

“Look, bro.” Deadpool was laying on the roof, bleeding profusely from a selection of stomach wounds. He waved his currently only arm in the direction of the blood-soaked docks, “We’re doing good, here! Took out some guys and yeah, they’re not the ones we’re after at the moment but they’re still bad and the ones you are after will be here soon and you can do whatever you want with them. So chill out, double-D.”

Daredevil made just about enough sense of Deadpool’s words to assure him, “I’m not calling you DP.” Thankfully that left Deadpool safely muttering to himself for a few minutes while Daredevil caught up. He still felt sick, hot all over and kind of shaky. He understood the necessity of what they had done and the risks Deadpool had taken to arrange the deal, and he appreciated it, but, “Did you have to kill so many of them?”

“I killed like, six guys!”

“That’s a lot, Deadpool.”

“Is it? Well, it’s only the ones who horribly abused their captives, anyway. I left the ones who hadn’t raped or murdered anyone- to my knowledge. I mean, they probably have, but I’m sure the cops and the justice system will ensure they’re appropriately-” there was a gasping, huffing sound and Daredevil realized he was laughing. It had an undertone of a gurgling sound he suspected was residual blood in Deadpool’s lungs and wasn't that a sound he never wanted to hear again, “Appropriately punished and rehabilitated before they’re released back into society. Oh, man.”

Daredevil sighed, fully aware of the futility of arguing but duty-bound to try, “If we kill them, it makes us no better than they- were.”

Deadpool’s grin was visible through the rips in his mask, not that Daredevil could see it, only aware of the change because the smell of tacos was momentarily less muted by the damp material across his mouth, “Well, unlike you, I never claimed to be.” 

“I bought a person.” Daredevil wasn’t sure if he was agreeing or disagreeing with Deadpool’s statement or which part of the statement was the most horrifying.

“Yeah, one you will return unharmed to her family and who will be the first of many rescued by the miraculous Daredevil. Deadpool was there too but he mostly killed people. He’s bad news, that guy, although he does have exceptional muscle tone.” Deadpool drummed the fingers of his good hand thoughtfully on the healing stump of his other arm. It had been severed for too long by the time the fight was over and he was having to re-grow rather than reattach it. It was pretty sweet of Daredevil to stay sitting with him while it happened.

“You helped me,” Daredevil replied to words Deadpool hadn’t even realized he had spoken. Whoops. Maybe the head wound was still healing, “You- maybe didn’t do things the way I would have, but you didn’t have to do anything at all. You could have let this go on. I don’t think I would have found out until a lot more people had been-” He had to stop and grit his teeth as the bile rose in his throat, hung his head.

“Do you think if you can’t find her family you’ll keep her and raise her as a little ninja assassin?”

“Have you been reading my origin story again?” Daredevil smiled, just a little, appreciated the change of subject more than he could realistically express. He had started to figure out how to make some sense of Deadpool’s ramblings.

“I could help train her, if you like. I could even blind myself- for a little while! Maybe if I stuck something in there and taped it...”

“You could just wear a blindfold.”

That grin again, “You getting all fifty shades of grey on me, Red?”

Daredevil smirked, “I got as far in that book as the entire chapter on drawing up contracts.”

“And then you had to go fap? You lawyers are so dirty.”

Daredevil laughed, although God knew he didn’t want to. He felt like he would cry otherwise. It had been such a long couple of days, and Deadpool was the only one he’d had anything resembling a conversation with. Deadpool reached out to pat his leg with his freakish baby hand, sighed happily. Underneath the sound of flesh regenerating, Daredevil heard his stomach rumble. He stretched, thinking about getting up and heading back to their shared safe house. He felt awful for hiding away, but the ruse he was attempting required complete deception and the last thing he wanted to do was drag his friends into it. It would only be a couple more days, and he was hoping he would make the news enough to assure them that he was safe, at least.

“Korean barbecue tonight?” He suggested, and Deadpool gave a gratuitous groan, shifted in the tight leather that remained of his suit. Daredevil had, unfortunately, heard him come before and the sounds were startlingly similar.

“You got it, M-eurp-ty,” Deadpool burped noisily in the middle of his sentence, patted his stomach and looked down in surprise as he found it intact, “Man, regenerating my intestines always gives me gas. Wait! Did you hear what I did just then? It’s just you and me, a thousand years!” 

Then he laughed hysterically to himself for ten straight minutes.

 

“Are you sure it was him? I thought he was a good guy.” Tony rubbed at his neck, where the edges of the suit had been chafing a little. It happened when he wore it over proper clothes, and he wasn’t usually in that situation for too long, but he would have to fix that. They all stood outside the van, all too restless and cramped to squeeze back into it for the journey back into the city.

“He’s never technically been friendly. He just hasn’t attacked us directly, and we’ve had our hands full with those who have.” Steve looked doubtful and sounded worse, even as Clint fumed silently.

“I don’t think it’s- I think there’s more to it,” Clint bit out, glaring at Natasha as she gave an exasperated sigh, “And no, that’s not why! He’s not- Daredevil is not totally indifferent to us. And he doesn’t even always work alone. Spider-Man would agree with me.”

“Well, he’s not here. And he doesn’t have the best taste in friends.” Tony pointed out.

Clint sighed, “It just doesn’t seem right to me. I met Daredevil a couple of times. We’ve shared rooftops. He’s never tried to push me off. And he could’ve. That guy is stealthy.”

“Pedophiles usually are,” Tony argued.

“He’s not a pedophile. Maybe he’s trying to help the kid-”

“And anyway, I thought he didn’t kill people.”

“Yeah, that I’ve got no clue on. Maybe the Punisher?”

“His kids were murdered, right?” Tony gave that some thought.

“Motive. But he’s pretty distinctive, and he hasn’t been sighted that I’ve heard of.”

“So, what you’re saying-” Steve interrupted, “Is that we need to go back to New York?”

“I have some things I’d like to check on here.” Natasha’s tone left no room for argument.

“Can you be done by the morning?” Steve checked, and she nodded, slipping away into the front passenger seat.

“I guess I’m driving.” Clint shrugged, “Anybody else feel like Korean barbecue?”

 

“Need to talk to you.”

Spider-Man nearly fell out of the air mid-swing as a voice sounded in his ear. Gathering himself, he dropped onto a low roof, turned in circles until he was sure there was nobody there.

“Are you in my head?” He asked, wondering vaguely if whatever Wade had was contagious. That was pretty unfair, when they hadn’t even exchanged bodily fluids.

“Uhh, thank God, no. I spent enough time in the head of a nerdy teenaged boy, thanks. Just- look, don’t web me, okay? I’m on your side here.”

“No promises.” Spider-Man muttered, started back and raised a hand as someone materialized in front of him. No- not materialized. Grew. “Scott?”

“Hey buddy.” Scott Lang unclipped his helmet, tucked it under an arm as he held out a hand for Spider-Man to shake, “I don’t think we’ve ever actually properly met.”

“No. We haven’t.” Hesitantly, Spider-Man took the offered hand. Scott’s grip was firm, but considering they had only previously encountered one another from opposite sides of a battlefield, he seemed friendly enough, “Did you need help with something?”

Scott snorted, took a seat on a nearby extraction vent. Spider-Man wished he’d thought of that. He had no idea where to put his hands.

“I’m just a messenger. I know you’re tight with the Avengers but you like Daredevil too and this is kind of from him, so I need you to listen.”

“You’ve seen him? He’s been missing.”

“He’s not missing. He’s hiding. And it’s for a good reason. Something’s going down on the docks tomorrow night and I need you to keep the cops away from it.”

“You do, huh?”

“Yeah, I get this is all pretty suspicious,” Scott sighed, ”I was told to tell you as little as possible, so just go ahead and stop me when you feel like you know enough. There is a man who is smuggling people into the city. People of all ages.” His voice faltered, and Spider-Man remembered that he had a young daughter. “Now- Daredevil, with some assistance I don’t know the details of, has agreed somehow to buy one of these people. They’re meeting at the docks. The Avengers will also be there, but they think it’s to apprehend Daredevil-”

“Which Avengers?” Spider-Man had to interrupt, because he was beginning to see a huge issue with that plan.

“I have no idea. But they have to think it’s to apprehend Daredevil because the smuggler has arranged that with one of his mercenaries, who is actually a spy. He’s planning to have Daredevil take out his competitors as payment, and then to catch him and have him imprisoned.”

“Wait, what?”

“I- dude, I don’t know. You’re lucky you’re getting this much because the guy who told me was making no sense at all.”

“Well, why does Daredevil have to be- wait. Which guy?”

“I spoke with a chick the first time, and she made sense, and she was hot, I mean like- Black Widow levels of hot. And then once I got to Toronto, I had to stowaway in the suit of some random guy, and then meet this other guy in the airport bathroom and oh my God this is what Luis must feel like all the time.”

Spider-Man bared his teeth, thankfully hidden beneath his mask because his suspicions were growing and he was not happy, “Was this guy continually making innuendos and talking to himself?”

“And he was eating a taco! In the bathroom. It was a weird day.”

“Excuse me I have to kill someone.” Spider-Man paused at the edge of the roof, “Tomorrow night. You got it. I’ll come up with something to distract the cops. For Daredevil.”

Scott stared, open-mouthed at the empty space Spider-Man had leapt into, “Sure. Why not? Everybody is insane except me.”

 

The Falcon was on a last, late-night patrol when he stumbled across Spider-Man and the civilian he had webbed to the wall in a particularly shady alleyway. Sam had broken up plenty of fights there before, so he froze for a moment on the neighboring roof, on the verge of intervening. He had heard shouting as he approached and didn’t want to believe that the scene was as questionable as it looked, wasn’t sure if he trusted his judgment after days of barely sleeping, feeling as though he’d done nothing but worry.

“Tell me where he is!” Spider-Man stood tall, his fists clenched, but his voice cracked, his desperation apparent.

The poor guy he had webbed was fairly young, vaguely familiar and entirely resigned to his position, held inescapably against the wall. The closest he came to attempting escape was a shrug as he replied with surprising ambivalence, “I don’t know, I haven’t seen him.”

He seemed bored and entirely unthreatened, but he didn’t appear to have actually done anything wrong to warrant the restraint. Sam thudded down beside Spider-Man. “Hey. What are you doing?”

He didn’t miss the civilian’s expressive eye roll as he thudded his head back against the wall, sagged in his bonds. Even wrapped in his suit, Spider-Man still resembled a petulant teenager, his whole posture defensive and sulky. Hopefully hidden by his goggles, Sam’s eyes narrowed in surprise at the change in the usually mature young man. He wished he was more confident in his own abilities to take him in a fight.

“Hey Falcon. This is Weasel. He’s a friend of Wade’s.”

Weasel’s wrists were webbed, but he twisted his hand in a wave even as he grimaced, “I mean friend is such a strong word-”

“Shut up! Where is he?”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up, firstly because he was somewhat astounded Wade had the time and attention span to maintain seemingly normal friends. Secondly because something in that twisted psychopath was clearly rubbing off on Spider-Man, and the effects were not desirable.

“I don’t know.” Weasel looked to Sam, imploring, “I really don’t.”

“What’s this about?” Sam asked Spider-Man, gesturing to Redwing. Spider-Man was pouting, almost, behind the mask, as lasers began to cut through his webs and he folded his arms. Sam suspected it was to keep himself from retaliating and was grateful for his restraint.

“He lied to me.” Spider-Man admitted, and he was pouting. Sam could hear it in his voice.

“He lied to you?” Weasel had retained the energy to sound genuinely surprised, even as he stood on slightly shaky legs and rubbed at his wrists.

“I know, right!”

“Well-” Weasel shifted, closer to Sam and away from Spider-Man before he spoke, “And this is purely hypothetical here, but don’t you think that if he’s lied to the person he admires most in the world, maybe he’s got a good reason to?”

There was a pause, during which Sam contemplated his abilities to fight or run with a civilian in tow. Thankfully, Spider-Man’s posture slumped instead of tensing in defense, “Weas, Daredevil could get himself killed.” He made an aborted motion Sam suspected would have been his hand running through his hair had he not been in the suit and mask.

“You know Wade would never let that happen,” Weasel spoke gently, made Sam wonder what sort of rough treatment he was used to in order to consider this conversation fairly normal. Being friends with Wade, he was probably exposed to all sorts of horrendous violence, “He’s- nuts, but he knows how strong he is. He would never put either of you in danger.”

Sam spoke, when Spider-Man was silent, “You honestly don’t know where he is?”

“Haven’t seen him. It’s not so unusual. He has safe houses everywhere.”

“I’ve checked.” Spider-Man bit out.

“Well, sometimes he needs to be kept safe from you,” Weasel pointed out, a little bitterly, and Spider-Man flinched back before his tone softened, “Not you personally. Like, SHIELD and the Avengers and stuff. No offence.” He glanced at Sam.

Spider-Man made a couple of aborted attempts to speak before all his energy seemed to leave him. He slumped against a wall, managed to nod. “You’re right. He protects me from everything and I can’t even…”

Sam thought he heard a tiny gasp that could have been a sob. Clearly he wasn’t the only one missing out on sleep and good company.

“This has taken a turn.” Weasel took a step back with his hands raised in surrender, looked genuinely guilty and wholly overwhelmed.

Sam ignored him in favor of frowning at Spider-Man, “How did you know he lied?”

“I saw Scott. He told me.”

“Scott was here?” Sam had a bad feeling about that. Why would Scott not have contacted him as well? Why was he even involved in any of this, when he usually kept a safe distance from Avengers business and certainly Deadpool business?

“Oh, I like that guy. He comes in for a drink sometimes to-” Weasel froze as he realized that Sam and Spider-Man were glaring at him, evident in their posture even with their eyes hidden, “Okay, shutting up. But I definitely don’t know where to find him.” 

“Does Scott even know Wade?” Sam asked.

“I’ve never seen them together.” Weasel shrugged, because to be fair that had been an open question.

Spider-Man sighed, “It’s- a whole big thing. Come on, I’ll tell you all about it.” He gestured for Sam to follow him as he clambered up the wall and headed back up to the rooftops.

“I can hardly wait.” With a nod at Weasel, who waved amiably enough, dusted off his jeans and wandered off, Sam leapt up to join him.

 

“Is this what you ordered, Devil?”

Down at the docks and shrouded in darkness, a man in a suit held a sniffling young girl up by one skinny arm so that her legs kicked feebly in mid-air. She was wearing only a white nightdress that rode up past the point of decency, and for a moment Daredevil was unspeakably glad he couldn’t see it. There was nobody else around, their meeting place just a space cleared between shipping containers, but he couldn’t help but wonder how terrible her journey had been, halfway across the world in the back of a car with ruthless mercenaries. She would have been unable to speak a word to anybody, missing her family with no idea where she was being taken or what awaited her once she arrived. She flinched at the sight of him, too, gave a small gasping sob and he was helpless to reassure her until they were alone. He hated the time she would spend terrified of him, dreading what he would do. She probably couldn’t even imagine what the worst people would have had in mind.

“Don’t hurt her,” he growled, and the man’s head took on a stubborn tilt as he lowered her to the ground again, although he kept a hold of her arm, “I’m not interested in damaged merchandise.”

“You’ve completed your side of our agreement?”

A muscle in Daredevil’s jaw twitched at the memory, “Nobody trades from these docks except you.”

“And my competitors, they won’t return?”

“They’ve been taken care of.”

“Six dead, I heard?” There was a smile in the man’s voice that made Daredevil suppress a shudder.

“With the help of your mercenary,” he conceded, since of course he hadn’t killed anyone. It still grated that he’d been forced to assist someone who did.

“He is efficient, isn’t he? Here. Examine your wares. I trust you’ll find them suitable for your... purposes.” The man picked the girl up by her waist, at least, and deposited her in Daredevil’s arms. 

She squirmed, but she was tiny and had very little strength left so he controlled her easily, set her down and examined her as best he could for any injury. She was cold and shaky, a little bruised but had no obvious severe injuries or additional weakness that he could tell without removing his gloves. The damage he was most concerned about, though, would have to wait for a medical professional to confirm. He wasn’t about to subject her to his probing, no matter how gentle he would be. He longed to wrap her in a blanket, to get her away from the man’s sight as well as his hold, but he could hear another heartbeat over the girl’s hummingbird fluttering and the man’s steady thuds. There had always been a risk the transaction wouldn’t go ahead as planned.

“This is not good.” Clint was saying, from the relative safety of their van. Parked nearby, it was coincidentally but rather usefully soundproof, and provided them with feeds into the cameras and microphones they had set up around the meeting place. They had moved all the chairs out in order to have enough space for the four of them to stand, despite Tony’s insistence they could just get a bigger van. Anything larger would attract attention, would put the girl at risk if they were discovered.

“It doesn’t look good,” Tony agreed, teeth gritted with the effort of keeping still since he had accidentally winded Steve with an elbow in his solar plexus.

“Little too perfect, don’t you think? They sound like they’re reading a script.” Natasha was perched on the desk, swinging her legs, listening more than watching.

“You think it’s a setup?” Steve raised his eyebrows, and she shrugged.

Outside, Daredevil growled, “You said you’d come alone.”

“But I did.” The man lied. Of course he didn’t know Daredevil could recognize the heartbeat, strong and fast but constantly changing, just slightly.

“Wade!” Daredevil barked, smirked as a man in a red hoodie leapt up from behind a stack of crates, hand raised.

“Present!” He strolled over, apparently immune to his employer’s stony glare, “Hey, Double-D. Sorry boss.” He glanced at the recipient of his insincere apology before winking in Daredevil’s direction, “Love it when you say my name.” 

The man just sighed, “Do you accept the agreed terms? The girl in exchange for your services?”

“I do.” Daredevil nodded.

“I think it’s a setup.” Natasha said.

Tony shrugged, “I think we should grab the kid and let them duke it out.”

“Leave that psychopath to it?” Clint’s hand was on the door to the van though, and he was slipping out the door even as Steve frowned at the camera. Daredevil had twitched at the exact moment the door had opened, had apparently heard it and was tensing, prepared for something. 

“Which one?” Tony muttered, half to himself. He was standing by the door as Natasha and Clint crept towards their agreed vantage points over the meeting site, aware the armor would be heard otherwise. With a last nod at Steve as he stepped out, he engaged the faceplate to the suit so he could continue watching the feeds, poised to act should he need to. Steve felt a wave of affection for him that he had to ignore, knew he couldn't so much as squeeze his shoulder through the suit because it had to be so difficult for him to stand by, to trust the others to approach when he couldn’t. 

Clint- Hawkeye- was closest to the action, had activated his comm to broadcast the man’s next words and push Steve into a run, “I’m afraid the terms have changed. Wade.”

“Sorry, buddy.” With an apologetic grimace, Wade raised a gun to point it at Daredevil’s head, aiming for the exposed face beneath the mask. At short range, there was no chance he would miss. Daredevil barely had time to flinch as his heart raced in alarm, only just realized that he didn’t have to because the approaching footsteps had been followed by the unmistakable twanging of a bow. He had still been holding onto the kid’s hand, grabbed her by the waist and swept her behind his crouched body, raised a gloved hand to protect the back of his neck because the loosed arrow connected with Wade’s head and exploded.

The thunk of Wade’s body hitting the ground was punctuated by the whine of repulsors and quick, heavy approaching footsteps.

“What the fuck, Clint!” Tony Stark’s voice rang out, and he threw his arms up in frustration as he landed a safe distance away, Steve catching up to stand alongside him. There was no reply. Daredevil took a moment to murmur a reassurance to the kid even though he doubted she could understand, took her hand again and held her behind him as he stood. He wasn’t sure what was happening, had to filter out the sound of Wade’s skull reforming before he could identify the four new arrivals. The only unannounced one was Natasha, who was creeping around behind him. He thought he could throw the girl to her if a firefight broke out. Clint had another arrow primed but Daredevil didn’t know and wouldn’t guess who it was aimed at.

“I did everything you asked,” he said cautiously to the grinning villain opposite him even as his mind worked itself into overdrive. Where was Sam? Had he told the other Avengers who he was? They didn’t exactly seem like they were there to help him, although Clint had debatably just saved his life. Wade’s body twitched in reminder.

“You did. Very willingly.” The man had one of those smug, condescending voices that made Daredevil want to punch him. He managed to settle for curling his lip into a silent growl before replying.

“I was never going to hurt her. I was going to send her home to her family.”

“You’ll have to prove that in court, I’m afraid.”

Daredevil suppressed a snort, “Will I make it that far?”

Steve interrupted, then. “We’ll need to debrief you at the very least. It’s probably best for everyone involved if you come quietly.”

“And him?” Daredevil gestured at the man opposite him, didn’t miss how Tony twitched in response. Behind him, Natasha drew closer although she didn’t step out into the open. Clearly she didn’t know that it wouldn’t make a difference to his ability to sense her. They had no idea who he was. They would unmask him and give him to SHIELD, would destroy his life to keep him under their control. His breath stuttered in his chest as he realized that had been the plan all along. He had been set up. He still wasn’t entirely sure who by.

“I will of course share everything I know.” The man in the suit smiled, “Will you submit to the Avengers and allow them to carry out their inquiries? I imagine Mr Wilson will accompany you.”

Daredevil suppressed a shudder at the phrasing, smiled at the sentiment, “You have a very active imagination.”

“Will you come quietly?” Steve’s hand touched the edge of his shield, a clear threat. It was hopeless to resist, of course, but Daredevil didn’t go down without a fight.

“The nice man asked you a question.” The man in the suit prompted, and Daredevil was wondering how many solid punches he could get in before a shield or repulsor blast brought him down. He didn’t imagine his suit would protect him, although if he kept moving-

Oh, no.

“Leave him alone!”

Daredevil closed his eyes, felt all tension leave him. Not that. He had never wanted that, thought he had done everything he could to avoid it.

The man in the suit spoke first, apparently unimpressed by Spider-Man’s dramatic entrance, swinging down to form a third side to their stand-off, “You’re interfering with justice here, kid.”

Yes, just go, Daredevil urged. He would rather be arrested than this, than bringing more suffering to the people he cared about.

“No, I’m not!” Spider-Man appealed to Tony and Steve, then, hands up in surrender, “Just don’t hurt Daredevil. He hasn’t done anything wrong. This is a setup. You were lured here. You were supposed to find out because he’s trying to frame him. He blackmailed him into taking out his competitors but he didn’t kill anybody. He wouldn’t!”

“Kid, you really need to stay out of this.” Tony warned, unconvinced. Next to him, though, Steve’s heart rate quickened.

“I am not a fucking kid!” Spider-Man clenched his fists, took a step forward but froze as, next to Daredevil, Wade lurched into a sitting position. His skull was healed, scarred skin creeping steadily over it, blood and gore dripping down his jaw. His neck clicked as he reached up to wrench his head from side to side, bones crunching back into place, “Wade! Tell them what happened. Tell them Daredevil didn’t do anything wrong.”

The man in the suit flinched in alarm at that. Clearly he hadn’t planned for Wade’s rather fluid alliances either, or the only one that remained constant. Daredevil ventured to hope that he might actually get out of the terrible situation without getting arrested.

Wade sighed, got to his feet and dusted off the back of his pants but ignored the brain matter that had collected on his hoodie, “Spidey, of course he was doing the right thing. He’s like the guiltiest Catholic ever, but he’s not a child molester. Also-” Wade gestured broadly to Steve and Tony, and in the direction of Clint, “Are you all blind? No offence.” And he nodded in Daredevil’s direction. 

Daredevil’s jaw twitched as he contemplated the unlikely possibility he could get away with writing that off as some of Wade’s meaningless ramblings. Spider-Man groaned and put his head in his hands. Somewhere, there was the muted cackling sound of Clint laughing, a metallic thud as he actually fell over with the force of it.

“Holy shit.” Even altered by the suit, Tony’s voice was breathless with realization. That was enough to distract Steve, and the man in the suit took the opportunity to go for his own gun. Daredevil took a step back, already pushing the kid in Natasha’s direction, the sound of his blood pounding in his ears so loud he didn’t hear the approach of a body from above, Sam Wilson aborting his controlled fall at the last second to boot the man in the face.

“Get the fuck away from him.” He warned the slumped figure as he landed, breathing heavily.

The corner of Daredevil’s mouth twitched, the only outward sign of abject relief and elation he couldn’t fully express, “He’s unconscious.”

Sam was furious, fists clenched and chest heaving, gorgeous as he turned to face him, “You’re welcome,” he snapped.

Matt pulled off his mask, flung it aside and kissed him.

 

Tony disabled the faceplate of the suit once JARVIS had reassured him of the unconscious man’s vitals, Clint dropping down from his perch to secure him with a gratuitous number of zip ties and a clear sense of satisfaction, still grinning to himself.

“I feel like this could have been explained much earlier and saved us a lot of trouble,” Tony said to Steve, who just rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, because superhero’s love interests never betray them.”

Tony actually took a step back, surprised and impressed and a little turned on, “Sarcasm, Rogers?”

“Lowest form of wit. I know my audience.”

“Well, if you ever need to practice.” Tony leered, and for a moment he thought Steve leaned in, just a little closer. Then his comm started barking the dulcet tones of Maria Hill, and Natasha was gesturing for Steve to help her with the girl, and it was back to business. Long, tedious, unsexy business.

 

Spider-Man- or Peter, since he wasn’t wearing the mask, approached Matt first after Sam had gone to help the others, drifting away with a squeeze to his shoulder. He was hesitant, unwilling almost, and he sighed before he spoke, “I’m so sorry, D. That was my fault. I should have known Wade needed longer for his brain to fully regenerate. The filter’s always last priority.” He gave a small, huffing laugh at that, bitterness shining through the guilt for a moment. He was still so young.

“It was only a matter of time. I don’t blame you.” Matt gave him a small smile, felt him relax a little, “Or him,” he added, because it was true. He didn’t even feel annoyed, had no energy for it, knew he had been delaying the inevitable for so long he should be grateful, really. It could have been so much worse.

“Just that asshole.” Peter cast a look in the direction of their still-unidentified man in the suit, chewed on the inside of his cheek. 

“How did you know about the setup?” Matt had to ask. He had been wondering ever since he’d had spare seconds to think.

“Oh, it is such a long story.”

“Some other time?”

Peter smiled, although he didn’t seem happy. “Sure. I’m glad you’re alright.”

Matt felt the curl of guilt in his chest, answered what he was sure Peter had meant, “I’m sorry I worried you. This was… complex. I didn’t want to risk you getting hurt.”

“You know you can always-”

“I was wrong.” Matt interrupted, because he didn't need another reminder. He wasn’t sure he could stand to hear those words from another source he didn’t feel like he deserved to have on his side.

“What?”

“I should have called you.” Matt took a deep breath, was grateful that Peter remained silent rather than pressing him. He had to get the words out. Peter deserved that, after all he had done for him. “You would have helped. And it would have saved us both a lot of stress.”

“Well, yeah.” Peter hesitated, then forged onward anyway, a little more quietly. As though he was worried about how he might react, “And Sam.”

Matt closed his eyes for a moment. The guilt festered, expanded, consumed all it touched. “And Sam.” 

It was the last thing he had expected to hear, but after a few moment of silence Peter laughed, “You’re gonna do exactly the same thing again next time, aren’t you?” He paused, but it wasn’t expectant. He wasn’t waiting for anything, just considering his next words, “Well, I’ll work on trusting you to know your limits. And trusting Wade to do what’s right.” He gave Matt a small nudge to the shoulder. “Thanks for not treating me like a kid.”

Matt was staggered and a little ashamed by the demonstration of maturity he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to manage even now, without prompting. He managed a small smile, hated that it came nowhere near the gratitude he wanted to express, “Thanks for not treating me like a blind man.” He replied in turn. And it hadn't been said, by either of them but as Peter stared out towards the others and his heart rate ratcheted upwards, Matt knew they agreed. It was also about time they both stopped treating Wade like some sort of monster, whether his mouth had a filter or not. 

 

“I really have no idea why they thought I’d be on board with all the unethical human experimentation…”

Peter had no idea where Wade had procured his Deadpool suit from, but it didn’t matter. He smiled. “I’m proud of you, Wade.”

“I mean, pretty much everybody I know is- what?”

Peter was smiling so hard his cheeks hurt, “You did the right thing. Even though you didn’t have to. Even though you were getting paid not to.”

“Oh I haven’t been paid.” Wade- or Deadpool, not that it made a bit of difference to Peter anymore- was quick to assure him. “Not that it matters because money is the root of all evil. And I have transcended it.”

“So... you’re broke.” Peter translated, folding his arms and pretending not to notice the way he could see, even through the mask, as Wade’s eyes ticked down his body.

“Overwhelmingly.”

Peter quirked down one side of his mouth and shrugged, “Well then how will you take me to dinner?”

Wade had any number of solutions to that particular quandary. He could rob somebody, although that would possibly go against the lessons he was sure he had just learned. Maybe robbing a bank wouldn’t count, just cash that would be covered by insurance so nobody but the executives would suffer as a result. Although they’d probably just hike the interest rates to cover it and make sure they could still pay their bonuses. And insurance premiums would go up, too. Maybe the nameless guy in the suit had something in his wallet. He was pretty well contained by Clint though, and Wade’s ears were still ringing from that damn arrow.

Weasel could lend him some- oh, no. He was waiting to get paid, had even taken Wade’s emergency twenty to pay for scotch in recompense for Spider-Man’s little tantrum. Maybe somebody would buy his kidneys, if he could arrange to have them removed at the right point of ebb and flow between the cancer and the healing factor duking it out inside his cells. Or Tim’s was hiring, just the other side of the Canadian border. It wouldn’t be so long to commute.

He had always wanted to star in his own stage show. Like, the vagina monologues only all of his skin was the wrinkled labia. That was what that show was about, right? Or he could sell his… body. Wait.

“Dinner?” He asked, voice cracking and a little shrill because Peter was still smiling and that meant there was a joke. Something was funny. Nobody smiled at him, not for that long, and not when they were so beautifully good and pure he felt as though his very touch would curse them.

“I mean, just if you want.” Peter had full, pink lips and he bit the bottom one, white teeth dragging through the soft, cushiony flesh. His eyes were so big and wide, “Nothing fancy, just you and me.” Peter took a step towards him and Wade was frozen, either trembling or his heart was pounding like a stampede of butterflies trying to escape his chest. “Without the masks.”

Wade swallowed thickly, the spell broken, “Oh, kid, you don’t wanna do-”

Holy shit. He didn't think he had ever hit the floor so fast, slammed onto his back, his brain catching up with Peter’s grab and flip just in time for the slim, perfect body straddling his and the fist that hit the ground beside his head with enough force he was sure he felt the earth move beneath him. He gaped, couldn't even dredge up a suitable innuendo.

“Call me kid again and see what happens.” Peter’s eyes were dark, furious and sparkling, his gaze piercing the leather that covered Wade’s face so that he felt pinned and exposed and vulnerable beneath this sad, beautiful boy.

“I kind of want to.” He said without thinking, because if he stopped and thought then he would cry.

“That says weird things about you.” Peter informed him and yeah, now that he thought about it, it really did. No crying though, which was a relief. Lucky escape. That nearly changed when Peter ground his hips down, and he had chosen his position well because Wade was hard as a rock, pressing up against the crevice of his ass cheeks in glorious spandex and how had this happened? Peter was leaning down, so close to the mask, pupils dilated and that was why his eyes were so dark. Wade had never imagined he would ever see them directed at him, “Or we could just fuck, hard and fast, right here?”

Wade gasped, and Peter smirked at his surprise and Wade wanted nothing more than to press his fingers into those slim hips so hard he left bruises and rut like an animal and tear those damn suits off so he could press their sweat-slick flesh together and push inside him-

Oh. That wasn’t true.

He didn’t want that more than anything. Not for Peter. Peter deserved so much more. He deserved to be loved and cherished and fulfilled in every way possible, to be worth more than just a quick fumble or a fuck. He deserved to have everything he wanted, and he had said what he wanted, hadn’t he? He had made it very clear.

Wade touched just the fingertips of gloved hands to Peter’s clothed waist, hardly able to believe he was even being allowed to do so much. He expected to pass straight through him, almost, like grasping at a ghost, but instead he was solid and hot and he gasped, just a little, at the reverent touch. He was an angel, perfect and pure. Wade gave him a small, genuine smile that he couldn’t see.

“Dinner sounds great.”

 

Matt didn’t know how long Sam had been watching him before he approached. He was tired and had been forced to reign his senses into close range, dismissing the cacophony around them as general noise. Peter had excused himself and Matt kept track of him as he went, smiled as he successfully diverted Wade’s attention from Clint despite the active discussion of Mexican food. Then he frowned because Sam’s heart had suddenly skipped a beat too, and he slowed his footsteps for an instant before consciously speeding them up again. Matt turned his head to face him with a questioning expression and waited, realizing with a start that he wasn’t just being considerate. He felt frozen, paralyzed by the threat of censure from someone who wholly deserved the opportunity to express himself after being wronged.

“So are we gonna talk about this?” Sam’s gentle tone was worse than shouting, somehow, as he stood alongside him. 

Matt felt like a schoolboy again, looked down, bit his lip. “I don’t know what to say,” was all he could choke out.

“Okay. I’ll start. If you’d told me you needed time and space I would have given it to you.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, shook his head. There were a thousand details in his expression Matt wished he could see. “I also would have sat at home on my ass while you got yourself arrested or killed.”

“Wade wouldn’t have shot me.” Matt had to reassure him about that, his mind latching onto it because he couldn't about anything else.

“Wade tried to shoot you?”

“Uhh-”

Sam nudged Matt’s shoulder with his, “I’m kidding, I saw that. I was also reasonably confident he wouldn’t. But the other guy scared the shit out of me.”

“You were very heroic.” Matt couldn't help returning Sam’s smile with one of his own, emotions bubbling inside him that he couldn’t place or name beyond a profound relief that they were even having the conversation. And then the relief faded, crested like a wave to leave him feeling nothing but emptiness. He longed to reach out and feel the solid warmth of Sam’s body, to reassure himself that he was still there, but he wasn’t sure it would be welcome. Then he heard Sam sigh and couldn’t do anything but slip round into his personal space. He was met by Sam’s hand on his face, calloused fingers a featherlight touch on his cheekbone.

“I’ll never tell you to stop doing what you do.” Sam’s voice was low, tight with feeling and resonating with truth that stole what little breath Matt had left. “It would be unrealistic as well as hypocritical. And it’s part of what makes you who you are. But… I can’t lose you.” His voice cracked, the first time Matt had ever heard that from him, usually so confident and sure, “Never stop. Don’t doubt yourself, or fear what I will think. Just come home alive.”

“You mean all of that.” Matt could hardly believe it himself, let himself be led as Sam pulled him in with the touch of fingers at the nape of his neck, his own gloved hands creeping up to Sam’s waist as their foreheads touched. He was so warm, so solid. Real and present and undeniable. So many things Matt was sure he couldn’t be in return.

“And this.” With gritted teeth, Sam took a deep breath and released it. Matt’s heart nearly stopped as he filled in the void himself, with all of the things he had come to expect from those who found out who he really was. He was steeling himself for the rejection when: “I love you. I’ll never not say it again.”

Matt’s knees nearly buckled. With difficulty, he caught his breath and said the only thing he could think, barely more than a whisper because he didn’t want to break this spell, to ruin whatever astounding delusion he had stumbled into. “Sam…”

“Come home with me. The city's safe. I agreed with Spider-Man that we’d trade off date nights.” Sam eased Matt back into reality, his voice warmed with a fond smile, the pressure easing off as they settled back into the safety of their usual humor. Matt’s mind reeled, but he pushed the emotion down for a while, concentrated on functioning until he had time to think.

“Well I wouldn’t want you to renege on your deal-” Matt’s comment brought with it a flashback to his earlier conversation, though, and he remembered with a start. “The girl-”

“Is with Steve. She speaks a little German. And she’s staring at him, awestruck, with eyes like big blue saucers.” Thumbs smoothed across Matt’s cheekbones, the image vivid and soothing, his accidental evasion effortlessly countered, “Tony’s brought her some clothes, proper ones. She’s wearing little jeans and a Hulk T-shirt. Clint has braided her hair. And they’re gonna find her family, Steve and Tasha, and make sure she gets home, and pay for therapy. She says they didn’t touch her.”

Matt relaxed, a little, but he’d started following the thread in his mind and couldn’t stop, “The rest-”

“Are being taken care of. There are accounts from Wade, Yelena and Scott. SHIELD agents at every one of their rest stops. You don’t have to do everything on your own any more.” Sam’s lips parted in a smile, “Terrifying, isn’t it?”

“I-” Matt felt shaky, hollow, like he was grieving for something lost. There was a weight off his shoulders he couldn’t imagine living without. Tears pricked at his eyes, “I don’t know...”

He didn’t even know what he didn’t know, and wasn’t that a ridiculous concept. There was more, there had to be. He couldn’t be finished. He couldn’t go back to somewhere safe and relax. That wasn’t right.

“Come home with me. Put that infallible resolve and focus to good use. Maybe leave the leather on a little while.”

Matt gave a little hiccup of a sob, knew he must look ridiculous, felt awful for resisting Sam’s attempts to lighten the mood, “Foggy- and Karen.” They hadn’t heard from him in days, they had to be worried. He couldn’t abandon them. They were so important.

“Redwing’s got it. We agreed on a code the first time we met. They know you’re safe.”

“I…” But he had nothing. It still felt wrong. It couldn’t possibly be over, not after all he had gone through.

Sam wrapped his arms around Matt’s waist, murmured in his ear, “I’m going to lift you up now. Hold on, please.”

It sounded like a metaphor. It wasn’t. Sam had to haul him up a little to take a couple of steps and launch them into the air, but once they were going it felt effortless. It probably looked ridiculous, and Matt was glad he couldn’t see what was passing by beneath them. He closed his eyes against the wind and tightened his grip around Sam’s neck, felt the strong and steady heartbeat against the leather of his suit. The wings sounded different, not that Matt was familiar with being so close to them, and he wondered if Tony had tweaked the power levels. He wondered if Sam had asked him to, with their current situation in mind. 

It should have been terrifying. The commitment involved in such a measure, although maybe Sam would need to rescue one of his team at some point and so it wasn’t just for him. Except Sam had always known his team, and the upgrades seemed recent. Maybe they had been Tony’s idea, back when he thought Matt was just a not-quite-defenseless civilian.

Well, if even Tony had been thinking about commitment, there had to have been some pretty clear signs. Deep down, Matt knew there were. He so rarely connected with people that he had always known there was something special about Sam. Even to have found somebody entirely comfortable with his darker side, the things he did as Daredevil, was frankly amazing. Of those who had known, he was the only one who didn’t try to push him in one direction or the other, who allowed him the balance of having both sides of his life. Of course, it helped that Sam did something similar. He understood, even though their methods differed, equally refusing to compromise on his own values and hopefully safe in the knowledge that Matt would never ask him to.

But had he been forced to? Matt had abandoned him, ignored him and clearly he had made his own way separately to the rest of the Avengers, hopefully convinced of Matt’s innocence. Had he spoken with Yelena? Wade had mentioned running into him and Spider-Man, had felt awful about lying to Peter and received a rather abusive phone call from his friend Weasel. It had all turned into a complicated, convoluted mess and he still had no idea which side Yelena was on or who the hell Scott was. 

And then Sam had saved him. Without hesitation, he had faced up to the criminal behind the smuggling and risked the likely censure of his team mates. Of course, Matt had wondered if Clint already knew and Tony had already suspected something. But they must have believed in at least the possibility of Daredevil being some kind of child molesting pervert, or they wouldn’t even have been at the meeting site.

It was all so complicated, spies and crossed wires and double-bluffs, but it was over. Nobody had been hurt. Everything was resolved. Matt could hardly believe it, so used to each solved problem revealing another, bigger one that meant he would get no sleep for the foreseeable future.

And Sam had said he loved him. When had that happened? He had always been attracted to Matt. That would have been obvious even without his enhanced senses giving Sam’s racing heart away every time they were together. But clearly it had progressed into something more. He was tempted to dismiss it. Sam really didn’t know him that well, after all. They had snatched a few evenings together, crammed all they could into what time they had. Maybe that was the problem. It just hadn’t been enough to get used to what was hidden beneath his apparently attractive exterior.

But he knew the worst of Matt’s secrets and hadn’t even flinched. Their first meeting had been friendly enough, Matt only vaguely aware of the Avengers beyond their more prominent members. And Sam usually only dated women, although of course they hadn’t opened their conversation with that so it had been casual enough to start with. It was only when Matt pushed a little that Sam’s heart began to respond, when he allowed his own body language to take on more of a cautious interest. They had both been as surprised as each other when everything just flowed.

Matt smiled a little at the memory, pressed his face into Sam’s neck to hide it, heard and felt the rumble of laughter in the chest against his own.

Two days after that first encounter, Sam had found out he was Daredevil. He had been chasing a mugger, hardly the criminal of the century but clearly they had made enough noise clambering up a fire escape to attract the attention of a passing Avenger. Matt had barely acknowledged him, dismissed him as non-threatening while he vaulted onto a neighboring roof, kicked off a wall and grappled the guy to the floor. He’d grabbed a flailing arm, pulled the purse from his hand and thrown it to Sam before growling a few threats, digging his knee a little harder into a pressure point and letting the guy flee with tears running down his face.

He’d turned to face Sam, heard the immediately dawning realization in the pounding of his heart and the sudden inhalation and braced himself for the impact. But Sam had just laughed. And Matt had frozen, a little concerned that he had triggered some sort of mental breakdown and was about to witness a supervillain transformation.

“I knew there was something about you.” Sam’s words spoken at that moment echoed in Matt’s head, every intonation committed to memory, crystal clear because it was the first time in forever that Matt had heard a heart start to pound with helpless attraction and realized it was his own.

Matt heard the electric buzz of the tower before they landed, still a number of storeys above most of the surrounding buildings, hesitantly released Sam from his grasp because he didn’t quite have his equilibrium back. He still felt like they were flying, and wasn’t that an appallingly emotional sentiment? For his own part, Sam kept an arm close around him, stoic and patient.

“You’re perfect. I don’t deserve you.” Matt concluded, reluctantly standing on his own feet once more, reacting late to Sam elbowing him in the ribs before he took his arm to guide him. He didn’t need it, technically, but the balcony was unfamiliar and it felt nice to let his senses finally rest after days of vigilance.

“Pretty sure it’s God’s job to judge that. And the one who lives in my building is fine with it.”

Matt laughed at that, quashed the rising guilt a little easier than before. “You’re insane.”

“Colorful, maybe,” Sam conceded as they stepped into the lift, pressed Matt against the back wall and kissed him briefly, “Imaginative.” He kissed him again as the floor moved beneath them. “Resourceful.”

As the lift stopped on Sam’s floor he guided Matt out, still pressing chaste kisses Matt followed for a few steps, attempting to pull him into something deeper and more satisfying. He growled as Sam laughed, but the cozy, safe atmosphere had triggered a deep, bone-crushing weariness he had been fighting off for days and he suddenly couldn’t face any more. He sagged in Sam’s hold, hung his head. His limbs felt like they were made of lead.

“I just want to sleep.” He admitted, tendrils of guilt plucking at him even as he formed the words.

“Oh, thank God.” Sam’s abject relief made him relax, though, “Quick shower first?”

“I smell like blood, stress and Mexican food.”

“Spider-Man’s favorite cocktail.”

It wasn’t funny, but Matt’s laughter bubbled out of him somehow anyway as he submitted to being led into the bathroom, sure enough of his senses to push into Sam’s space and kiss him. It was as close as he could come to expressing himself as he explored lazily with his tongue, Sam rather gratifyingly distracted from his task of removing both their suits to cup his face with both hands and hold him close. Matt managed to shrug out of the top half of his without pulling away, ignoring the twinge of various bruises in favor of leaning over to swat at the tap for the shower with his other fingers hooked in Sam’s suit to keep him upright.

He felt Sam smile against his lips, knew it broadened as he fumbled at the front of Sam’s rather more complicated outfit without the faintest clue what he was doing. Sam had been right earlier, though, with his passing comment about the leather because clearly more exploration was necessary. He didn't often get to experience the shift of soft fabric against hot skin beneath his fingers, the contrast with cold, smooth metal.

The noise it all made when it hit the floor was less pleasant, but they broke apart to stare or snort guiltily about the cracked floor tiles for a moment before Sam was working at Matt’s pants, easing them down with a squeeze to Matt’s rear that pulled him in close and nearly made him topple over as they caught at the top of his boots.

“This is not practical.” Sam conceded, and he thought Matt didn't notice the rueful glance he cast down Matt’s back, following the curves of his body.

“You can walk me through taking it all off some other time. Or leave it on.” Matt smirked as he pulled back and perched on the edge of the tub to remove his boots, heard Sam let out a long and wistful sigh before he sat on the closed toilet lid to do the same. Finally free of what he realized had been increasingly damp and sticky, uncomfortable restriction, Matt stretched his arms over his head, savored the painful tension in his overused muscles. “I have never been so glad to get out of that suit.”

Ten seconds later, Sam responded, “I have no idea what you just said.”

“It sort of went without saying.” Matt admitted, bit his lip and reached out for Sam’s hand, “Come get clean with me, dirty boy.”

He heard Sam’s mouth open in a silent groan and pulled him under the beautifully hot spray to kiss another less silent one from him. Thankfully, that meant he had his eyes closed when Sam dumped a palmful of shampoo in his hair. Not that it would have hurt, particularly, since Sam bought hypoallergenic, unscented baby shampoo with his lover’s super senses in mind, and not that he would have cared once Sam was massaging it into his scalp with firm strokes. Instead, he shuddered and pressed against Sam with a moan into his neck.

“Have I discovered your weakness, Murdock?” Sam scratched with his fingernails in long lines up from his nape, pushed Matt’s hair back from his forehead and kissed it before feigning breathless realization, “Is that what the mask is for?” 

“Otherwise I would be helpless to resist any other gorgeous, strong, charming men who ran their hands through my hair.”

“I’d better not let you anywhere near Thor.” Sam eased Matt under the spray to wash the suds from his hair and reached for the shower gel, apparently making it his task to turn Matt into a pliant, sleepy mess beneath his capable hands before he wrapped him in an enormous towel and all-but carried him to bed. He climbed in next to him, a little damp but smelling fresh and clean and leaned over to kiss the hollow behind Matt’s ear. “Don’t you dare feel guilty.”

Matt murmured something probably completely nonsensical and slept.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, even I didn't ship these boys at the start but I do now!
> 
> I would love to write more about them (including some actual bloody sex at some point) but this just seemed like a lovely place to end it. There are still a few loose ends to tie up in an epilogue at some point.
> 
> If there's anything you'd like to see, let me know! I love obscure prompts. Especially if they relate to the villain I was too lazy/mysterious to actually name!


End file.
